


We Live Through

by elliebird



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Come Marking, M/M, Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-26 12:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13235490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliebird/pseuds/elliebird
Summary: Written for the prompt "scars."Title from James Bay because I'm unoriginal.





	We Live Through

Bucky’s memories come back to him in fragments, like shards of glass trying to be reset into a frame. Every memory of everything he did as the Winter Soldier bears the weight of a physical scar. 

“What happened?” Steve asks. 

Bucky had been dozing, a catnap after a bout of particularly exertive sex. Steve’s quiet question brings him to the surface of a dreamless sleep. With his eyes closed, he catalogues where he is, _who_ he is.

 _Brooklyn. 2017. Steve_. He exhales. Steve’s beside him, naked, come drying on his belly. Bucky settles a little, one of Steve’s legs tangled with his, anchoring him. 

Steve’s touching him lightly, tracing the only physical scar on him, a single visual reminder of things he’d rather forget. The back and forth stroke of his fingertip in a pattern from Bucky’s shoulder, across his right pectoral in a diagonal sweep to just above his ribcage lulls him into a hazy space just beyond consciousness. 

For someone who’s shed blood, torn apart families and brought down foreign regimes, it’s a piece of blink-and-miss-it proof. In the body of a super soldier, designed to annihilate and survive, it’s an aberration, a terrible reminder that he had been human once. 

It’s the first time Steve has asked about it. Steve doesn’t ask and Bucky never volunteers. The first time they fucked, after Germany when Bucky was remembering the very first time with ninety pounds of Steve beneath him in a freezing Brooklyn tenement, Steve’s eyes had ghosted over the scar, hungrily taking all of Bucky in but never once asking why. 

Bucky had been ready to call it a night, come drying on his dick and the tightness in his chest not so tight with Steve beside him. Now, with Steve’s careful, reverent touch on the part of himself he hates the most, his cock’s perked up, plumping full of blood against his thigh. 

“You don’t want to know,” Bucky mumbles. He feels weary to the depths of his bones with all the things he can’t - and won’t - tell Steve. Some things he can’t bear to remember, let alone risk saying aloud. 

He loses himself in Steve. It’s easy. Steve’s the best parts of home. Nights like this, after they’ve fucked and the flat is quiet, he thinks maybe he’s not losing himself in Steve but beginning to find himself. 

He pries his eyes open. He forgets himself every now and then and expects to see the Steve from before the war, ninety pounds, frail and lovely. This super Steve is just as sweet but he takes Bucky’s breath away with the power and sexuality of his enhanced body. 

He’s on his side, head propped on his free hand, looking beautifully debauched and well fucked. Steve goes pink, and stays pink, when Bucky fucks him bare and full of come. He looks the same as he used to, back when Bucky could easily flip him to his stomach and fuck into him until he’d plugged him full of a load or two. Steve can keep going these days. 

Bucky wraps his good hand around Steve’s wrist and drags his hand down his belly, shifting his hips up into Steve’s hand, those long fingers curling around him. 

Steve makes a hungry sound tinged with embarrassment, shame that he’s this insatiable. Bucky presses his smile into the sweat damp curve of Steve’s throat and flexes his thigh for the way Steve humps into him, smearing pre-come in the hair on his leg. 

Steve lifts his head and peers at Bucky. “Buck.” He hesitates. “You don’t need to tell me.” He ducks down before Bucky can react and kisses Bucky right at the heart of his scar where the blade, something foreign, otherworldly, _alien_ , that kept Bucky’s serum-induced body from healing, sliced into him. 

Bucky freezes, waiting for panic, a rush of terror, anything to overtake him. Nothing comes, just a blossom of warmth from the shape of Steve’s lips on his marred skin. 

Steve’s fingers tighten around Bucky, his hand moving faster. He makes a hungry noise against Bucky’s skin where the scar bypasses his nipple by a centimeter. 

Bucky slips his hand into Steve’s hair. During the years before the war when they were living together, they shared everything from a toothbrush to food and a bed. Necessity kept them apart when Bucky became a Howling Commando. This is nothing like those moments they used to share. It’s everything. This is Steve taking a horrific memory and turning it into something sexy, full of tenderness. 

“Buck?” 

“Keep going,” Bucky mutters. He can’t catch his breath, not from panic or a past trauma but from an overwhelming need to weep, from gratitude or love, he doesn’t know. 

Steve traces the trail from Bucky’s collarbone, over the swell of his pec, licking at Bucky’s skin like he’s beautiful and not the monster Bucky still fears. 

Steve’s hand on his cock is steady. He pauses at the head, smearing his thumb in the come leaking from the tip and renews his stroking with a damp fist and the slightest hint of teeth on Bucky’s chest. He never healed completely, though it stopped hurting almost immediately. Now, though, there’s a buzz of sensation, of _pleasure _, like a current traveling the space of the scar. Steve’s mouth, his tongue, his teeth, all of it making Bucky feel like he could come apart without so much as a breath on his cock.__

__It’s almost too much, the pleasure of Steve’s mouth and the twist of his hand._ _

__Bucky likes to watch Steve when they’re together like this. It’s a fucking rush to have Steve Rogers’ focus on him, the intensity of his gaze, his single-minded devotion._ _

__“Kiss me,” Bucky mumbles, tugging at the sweaty hair at Steve’s nape. Steve makes a low, hungry sound and lifts his head, slotting himself more firmly against Bucky’s thigh and fits his open, panting mouth against Bucky’s._ _

__Bucky doesn’t let up. His metal hand’s gripping the side of the bed to keep from accidentally reaching for Steve, still unsure of how it’ll react. His good hand holds Steve close, unwilling to let him go, wanting to take as much as Steve into himself as he can._ _

__Bucky comes almost immediately with Steve’s tongue in his mouth and his hand on his cock, stroking him through each spasm, until Bucky’s entire body’s jerking through the aftershocks as Steve refuses to let go despite how fucking sensitive Bucky’s cock is._ _

__Steve lets go but doesn’t stop kissing him. Bucky can feel the need simmering in him, like heat on a black top, radiating in waves. Bucky touches his jaw, scrapes his thumb along the stubble there. “Your turn,” he says with a smile._ _

__Steve’s reaction is immediate. He’s on his knees before Bucky’s caught his breath, straddling his hips and presenting himself for Bucky’s gaze in all of his fantastic, pinup glory._ _

__Steve’s almost feral. He’s flushed from his cheeks, down the slope of his throat to those fucking tits of his that Bucky hasn’t stopped obsessing over. Bucky haphazardly shoves a pillow under his head - he’s not missing a second of this. He palms one of Steve’s pecs, the swell of it under his hand, and flicks the peak of his nipple with his thumb._ _

__“Come on, that’s it,” Bucky mutters mindlessly, eyes roaming from the cut of Steve’s hips, the flex of his belly, the thick, curved shape of his cock as it slides in and out of his fist. He’s fucking stunning and Bucky gets to call him _his _. “Go on, Steve, give me your come,” he says to keep from saying something embarrassing like _mine_ or _stay_. ___ _

____Bucky knows Steve’s tells. He gets this wild-eyed look about him, like he can’t quite believe it. Bucky lifts his chin, lets his mouth fall open, urging Steve to come on his face if that’s what he wants._ _ _ _

____Steve shakes his head, a question in his eyes that Bucky understands before it’s really registered._ _ _ _

____He touches Steve’s wrist. He could shake his head. He could say no. He could scoot down the bed and take Steve in his mouth, take his come without having to have the conversation. Instead he arches his back. “Yeah, baby,” he whispers, “go on.”_ _ _ _

____It’s only a second after that, the permission or pet name or a combination of the two sending Steve over as sure as a mouth or hand on him._ _ _ _

____Steve comes for-fucking-ever, hot pulse after pulse of come landing on Bucky’s skin, covering his scar in his own spunk, marking Bucky and looking so self-satisfied Bucky can’t keep the fondness off his face._ _ _ _

____He swats at Steve’s thigh. “Fuck,” he groans and settles more deeply into the pillows. Ninety years of friendship and Steve still surprises the hell out of him._ _ _ _

____Steve flashes a rare, filthy grin and gets to his feet to clean up._ _ _ _

____“Why?” he asks a long while later after he’s dozed off to the feel of Steve’s breath on his skin and come back awake to Steve’s arm around his waist, tugging him close. He doesn’t know what he’s really asking or why he need to know._ _ _ _

____Steve doesn’t answer for long enough that Bucky wonders if he’s being ignored. Steve shifts, freeing his arm from between them and places his palm flat over Buck’s pectoral where the scar is particularly terrifying, his skin sticky with Steve’s jizz._ _ _ _

____His lips move against Bucky’s shoulder. “It reminds me that you’re alive.”_ _ _ _


End file.
